


Little Victories

by Sloth_Race



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9718124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sloth_Race/pseuds/Sloth_Race
Summary: After Samson's trial, the Inquisitor invites her advisors to her quarters for a celebratory drink. Later, after an evening of too much whisky, Evelyn Trevelyan attempts some awkward flirting to her very receptive Commander.The next morning, Josie and Leliana discover the results.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Here's a ridiculous story that's been sitting in my writing file for months.

Cullen certainly hadn’t planned on ending his night completely soused.

He had _planned_ on finishing his nightly report before heading up the ladder to his sparse, chilly bedroom, just as he did every night.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, Samson lay in a musty cell underneath Skyhold, guilty of a long list of terrible crimes. Tonight, the former Templar was no longer a deep, red thorn in the Inquisition’s side.

It was a cause for celebration.

The Inquisitor had certainly seemed to think so, at least. She had bustled into Cullen’s office after dusk that evening, gripping a bottle of Mackay's Epic Single Malt whisky in each hand, cheerfully instructing him to follow her to an impromptu “War Table meeting”.

With a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he had complied.

To his surprise, however, she had guided him right past the War Room, leading him instead to the heavy oak door to her own quarters. With a wink and an impish grin, she had pushed the heavy door open with her hip, causing Cullen’s heart to flutter in his chest.

Oh, he had been to her room several times, but always in a professional capacity. Never for fun, and certainly never with alcohol involved.

Confused and vaguely hopeful, he followed her subtly swaying hips up the creaky wooden stairs, only to enter her room to find Leliana and Josie seated on the couch in front of the fire, waiting for them both.

Evelyn had wasted no time then. With a bright smile, she had uncorked the whisky and poured each of her advisors a generous splash of the potent drink. Within no time, one drink had become two, then three, then more.

Fueled by the strong drink and happy banter, Cullen actually found himself enjoying the evening.

He wasn’t the only one. To his astonishment, Leliana actually laughed at several points in the evening, causing Cullen to smile into his glass at the sight.

All that, however, had been hours ago, and quite a few more splashes of whisky earlier.

Four hours later, only Cullen and Evelyn remained, slouched against each other on her small couch with the taste of whisky still scorching their tongues. Leliana and Josie had long since left, having descended the creaky stairs arm-in-arm, happily wobbling as they went.

Now, a very mellow Cullen lounged on the couch with a half-empty glass of whisky held loosely in his hand and an abandoned chess game on the table in front of him. An equally inebriated Evelyn sat beside him with her eyes closed, her expression peaceful. It took him a moment to realize she was humming an off-key tavern tune that Cullen barely recognized as a Ferelden drinking song.

He sniffed in amusement and raised his glass to take a sip, watching as Evelyn somehow managed to look unsteady even as she remained seated.

Hearing his entertained snuffle, she cracked open a single eye and looked his way.

“Cullen.”

Not sure whether it was a question or a rebuke, he simply arched an eyebrow and took another small sip of whisky.

“Don’t make fun of your Inquisitor.” She slurred with pompous cheer. When he snuffed another laugh, she nudged his boot with her own, more in the spirit of drunken playfulness than retribution. With a stone-faced expression, he nudged hers right back.

She hummed in response, then turned her head to eye his furred coat with longing.

“Hey. Have I told you how warm you look?”

The large windows of her room, beautiful as they were, never fully managed to keep the cold at bay. As a result, they had pulled the small couch even closer to the fire, grateful for its flickering heat.

“Hm. No. But I _am_ very warm.” He remarked contentedly. 

"Arse." She grinned and took a final sip of her own whisky, emptying her glass. "Hm. Next time we do this, let’s get some blankets.” She remarked, then blinked drunkenly at the fire. “And snacks. Little snacks.”

He swirled the whisky in his glass, pleased at her use of the words ‘next time’.

“Perhaps those little almond cookies?” He suggested. Those were good.

“Hm… _Yes_. Or those fancy Orlesian pastries that Josie has for diplomats.” She amended. “The ones with flaky layers and berry jam.”

“Mmmf.” He mumbled in agreement, letting his head fall back against the couch. Now that their chess game had been abandoned, he should probably return to his tower. Maker knows it would be a rough morning.

“Ev, I should probably head back now.” He remarked, his head still resting lazily on the back of the couch.

When Evelyn remained silent, he glanced over to see her watching him.

“Evelyn?” He asked, narrowing his own eyes with good-natured suspicion.

Spurred on by the placid rumble in his voice, she pushed herself to her knees and shuffled closer. Before he could ask her intentions, she swung her leg over him and settled herself on his lap, with her soft rear landing in the worst spot it could possibly go.

Or the best, perhaps. His judgment wasn’t exactly reliable tonight.

Cullen let out a strangled noise, trying to ignore the flash of heat that spiked through him as the soft, warm weight settled against his groin.

“Stay.” Evelyn remarked, wiggling a little to make herself comfortable in his lap.

“Ev…” He grunted, fumbling to set his whisky down beside himself without spilling it. With his hands now empty, he held them awkwardly at his side, wondering where to put them.

Evelyn, for her part, seemed unperturbed by their sudden proximity. She closed her eyes and rested her arms on his shoulders, looking supremely comfortable despite the fact she was seated on a very startled and heavily armored man.

“Is this okay?”

 _Yes. Oh, sweet Maker,_ _Yes._

“Ah… of course.” Cullen croaked politely. He cringed at the warble in his voice and watched as a tiny, delighted smile appeared on the Inquisitor’s lips.

Evelyn, he realized, was perfectly aware of what she was doing to him.

Oh, she _knew._

Inwardly, Cullen growled in challenge, both pleased and provoked by her teasing. Well... two could play at that game.

With a polite smile, he placed his hands on her thighs and absently began to rub them, as if to warm her up.

“Still a little chilly?” He asked, keeping his voice pleasantly neutral as he nodded to the window.

“Mm.” She hummed, gazing at him with sleepy contentment. “Less so now. You’re like a walking forge.”

Cullen grunted in agreement.

“I don’t think I could handle the hole in my roof if I wasn’t.” He replied, pretending for all the world as though it was normal for the Inquisitor to be seated snugly on his lap.

In form-fitting riding pants.

Oh _, Maker._

He shuffled self-consciously, trying to ease his hips back a bit from the solid warmth pressed against him. _Somehow,_ despite the large volume of whisky he had consumed, her proximity was definitely starting to be an issue.

Roused by his shifting, Evelyn’s cheeks tinged a pretty pink.

Emboldened by her flushed face and the strong alcohol, Cullen let his hands wander ever so slightly down her hips. To his supreme satisfaction, her heard her quiet intake of breath, barely audible over the sound of the fire crackling.

“Why… why haven’t you fixed that, by the way?” She murmured after a moment, clearly trying to focus on the conversation they had been having.

“The hole in the roof?”

She nodded and Cullen shrugged, an act that was mostly swallowed by the fuzzy collar of his surcoat.

“We have bigger things to worry about. Plus, when it’s not snowing, it’s… pleasant to see the stars.”

Evelyn’s lips parted, her eyes wide in surprise.

“That seems rather romantic for you.”

Cullen’s hands stilled on her thighs.

“Are you implying that I’m not usually romantic?” He baited her, knowing full well the answer.

Evelyn snorted an unladylike, snuffling laugh.

“Do you recall our dealings with Lord Basile Maron?”

Cullen opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

“As I recall,” she continued, “his daughter dressed up as a villager and came to us with an idealized notion about fleeing her noble life in order to join the Inquisition. I _also_ recall you used the words ‘Lady Ducette’ and ‘put her in a barrel’ in the same sentence.”

Cullen snuffed in wry amusement.

“Yes. Well. That was, ah… rather extenuating diplomatic circumstances’.” He gave her thighs a light a squeeze in retribution. “And I changed my tune later, so the point is moot.”

Evelyn arched a skeptical eyebrow and he frowned.

“Hey.” He groused drunkenly, seeing her doubting expression. “I can be romantic.”

A bright smile lit her face.

“Can you now? I would very much like to see that.”

“Would you?” He huffed a soft laugh. “Another glass or two of whisky and I’m sure you will.”

_Shit. **Shit**. _

The look that flashed across Evelyn’s face was a blend of genuine surprise and drunken delight.

Cullen’s face, meanwhile, bloomed a bright red.

“Fade take me.” He muttered, startled by his own audacity. “I just meant that … ah…”

He hesitated, then finally trailed off, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. He let his head drop back against the couch in embarrassment, even as Evelyn chuckled at his discomfort.

Looking away, his eyes landed on the dark glass whisky bottle on the floor, only just realizing that they had completely drained the contents.

“It seems like a non-issue, since we’re out of whisky anyway.” He remarked, feeling a mixture of relief and remorse. The lack of alcohol likely meant an end to their night, and an end to the casual closeness that they had adopted so effortlessly.

Evelyn tilted her head to squint at the heavy, glass bottle on the floor.

“So we are.” She blinked - a suspiciously long, drunken blink - and smiled. “I have some West Hill brandy in my desk.”

A stumbling, excited hope flared in Cullen’s chest, only to be stomped down by his own strong morals.

“I hate to say it, but that is probably a _terrible_ idea at this point.” He replied, lifting his head as he focused on pronouncing his words.

Evelyn paused to think over his answer, her brow furrowing with disappointment. “Probably.” She smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know I’m already going to hate tomorrow morning.”

Seeing her dismay, Cullen reached up and ran his thumb along her cheek, continuing to surprise himself.

_Three cheers for liquid courage._

“For what it’s worth”, he rumbled, “You’ll be in good company. I think we made it through a whole bottle between the two of us.”

Evelyn breathed a short laugh.

“Well done, us.”

She shot him a proud smile as she reached over to play with the fur of his surcoat, her fingers twining in the soft fur.

“So. Now that the alcohol is out of the question, what does my advisor… advise?” She waggled her eyebrows.

Cullen’s felt his cheeks redden as a welcome heat flooded through him at her words. _Maker,_ he wanted to rise to her bait. He wanted to, but he was three sheets to the wind, and distinctly fuzzy-headed from the deceptively smooth whisky. He wasn’t in the right state for this.

With a resigned smile, he stroked her cheek again, marveling at how warm it suddenly felt.

“I’m going to regretfully advise that we be responsible humans and go to bed. I still need to climb down those stairs and I’d rather not trip and hit every one on the way down. “ He paused. “We should also drink some water before we go to bed. Large quantities, preferably.”

Evelyn smiled affectionately, as if she had expected the courteous deflection. “I have to say, if this is your idea of romance, it is incredibly practical and Cullen-like.”

Cullen breathed a laugh and gave her thigh another rub.

“This isn’t my idea of romance. This is my attempt at making sure we don’t wake up with blistering headaches and mysterious bruises tomorrow morning.”

“Fair enough.” Evelyn replied, smiling down at him. She paused, then took a deep breath and patted his breastplate.

“Well then.” She moved to climb off of him, putting her hand on his head to gain more support. With an amazing lack of her customary grace, she clambered off of his lap and moved to brace herself against the couch.

“I’d still like to see what your idea of romance is one day.”

Cullen made an entertained grunt and pushed himself up, rising to his feet beside her. As he did, Evelyn took a step back and stumbled over her own boot. Without thinking, Cullen reached out and caught her, one hand firmly splayed out on her lower back while his other clutched her arm in a gentle grip.

Evelyn gasped at the abrupt contact, suddenly very conscious of his large body crowding her space. Emboldened by her expression, Cullen slid his hands down to her waist, lowering his voice to a deep rumble.

“Since you’re so insistent, I could… ah… give it my best shot.”

He heard Evelyn swallow as she stared back, her eyes wide as saucers.

“Maker’s _breath_.” She breathed. “Yes, _please_.”

 

* * *

 

 Leliana could feel the headache pounding behind one eye as she climbed her way up the winding staircase to the Inquisitor’s quarters the next morning.

Drinking last night, it turned out, had been a bad idea.

Drinking _whisky_ , specifically, had bumped that idea straight into the category of Downright Terrible Ideas. She hadn’t had whisky for years; not since Elissa had procured a full jug of the stuff on the way out of Redcliffe. From what Leliana could still recall, she had spent the night drinking straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth between herself, Alistair, and Elissa until the entire jug was dry. They had been awoken the next morning by a cheerful mabari who had seemed fit to lick their faces until they stirred.

Doing her best to ignore the fuzzy memory and the throbbing headache alike, Leliana willed herself to focus on what Josie was saying.

“We’ll need to send messengers to the King and the Empress first.” Josie intoned, her eyes on her clipboard as she walked up the steps. “They’ll need to know about Samson’s sentence before anyone else does. I’ve drafted two letters - different, of course.” She said absently as she pushed the Inquisitor’s door open. “Once they are sent, we’ll need to contact…”

Josie paused and looked down. Leliana followed Josie’s eyes to see that she had stepped on a discarded item of clothes. Josie frowned and picked up the shirt. …The same shirt that the Inquisitor had been wearing last night. Leliana blinked, keeping her expression neutral.

“Oh.” Josie slung the item of clothing over her arm and resumed walking up the short staircase.

Leliana moved to follow the chipper Antivan up the steps, only to feel her own foot hit another item on the stairs. Looking down, she saw a thin, metal object. Narrowing her eyes, she recognized it as a silverite vambrace.

“Josie…” Leliana remarked in a hushed voice, nudging the vambrace to the side of the stairs.

“Hm?” Josie turned as stopped near the top.

“Perhaps we should reschedule.” Leliana remarked quietly.

Josie’s brow furrowed.

“We really do need to get these messages sent. The last thing we need is for the King and the Empress to find out about Samson from anyone but the Inquisition. I know we’re all feeling the alcohol, but the Inquisitor specifically asked me to send someone in to wake her up this morning.” Leliana pursed her lips, but Josie just smiled. “Anyway, I’ve asked a servant to bring her some dried elfroot tea for her head. If she and Cullen kept drinking last night, I suspect she’ll need it.”

With a gentle smirk, Josie turned and glanced over the railing while Leliana hung back, simply… waiting.

It only took a moment for Josie to let out a strangled squawk before she dramatically ducked back down to hide beneath the balustrade. As she did, Josie stared at Leliana with astonished eyes, her hand pressed over her mouth.

Leliana suppressed a small smirk.

“Cullen’s here?” Leliana mouthed, her expression amused.

Josie nodded and pulled her hand from her mouth.

“They’re … _spooning_.” She whispered back, astonishment written all over her face.

Leliana let herself grin.

“Are they still asleep?”

Josie nodded, her eyes still wide.

Pressing herself up on her tiptoes, Leliana peered over the railing towards the Inquisitor’s bed. True to Josie’s word, the Inquisitor and Cullen lay entwined together, the white sheets tangled around their legs. Evelyn lay curled on her side, facing away, while Cullen lay curled against her back, snugly nestled against her side. More clothing lay scattered by the bed, clearly removed in haste.

Leliana surveyed the room for a few more seconds and then ducked back down out of sight. She glanced back at Josie, who jerked her head towards the door, indicating they should go. Leliana nodded and the two women crept out of the room, closing the door quietly as they left.

Once they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Josie’s breath gusted out of her, as if she had been holding it the whole time.

“Have they been doing that for long?”

“Sleeping together? No. Flirting? Since day one.” A knowing smile flickered across Leliana’s face. “I think last night might have been the tipping point.”

Josie covered her blushing face with her clipboard, hiding from her friend’s gaze. She hesitated for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Finally, Josie pulled the clipboard down a tad, still hiding her blushing cheeks.

“…He has a nice bum.” She finally mumbled.

Leliana let out a startled giggle.

“He _does_.”

With a genuine smile on her face, Leliana looped her arm through Josie’s and tugged her gently towards the door to the Great Hall.

“Also, I just won a bet. Come on. Let’s go find Varric while we wait for them to wake up.”

**Author's Note:**

> The joke's on Leliana. 'Passing out immediately on a bed together' is not what Varric had in mind when he started taking bets on them sleeping together.


End file.
